


love you so bad

by xintong



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/pseuds/xintong
Summary: It’s been nine moon cycles. A whole Earth year since they last saw each other. Keith kisses the inside of his palm, lips curving at the way Lance’s fingers tremble against him. All the words he had wanted to say during their time apart catch inside his throat, but Lance must see it in his eyes, the yearning and the heartache: I missed you. So much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was commissioned to finish this. Based on emuyhn's Big Galra Keith ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) which you can see [here!](https://twitter.com/emuyhn/status/972629985394548736%20) Farm shenanigans mention loosely based off a conversation I had with friends. 
> 
> Title based on 'ILYSB' by LANY. It's a good song but not a sexy one so it does not fit with the mood of this fic, lmao.

When Keith arrives at the Castle of Lions, Lance isn’t there to greet him.

Stepping off the gangplank of the imperial cruiser, he tries his best to mask his disappointment as he scans the welcoming court for a familiar head of chestnut hair. Among the silver threads of the Altean royal family, however, Lance’s distinctive dark coloring is nowhere to be seen.

“Lord Keith,” Allura greets, bending down into an exaggerated curtsy as their respective assemblies converge. She’s as immaculate as ever — snow-white curls cut shoulder-length and moon dust painting her eyelids, dressed in a periwinkle skirt that flows delicately from her waist. Not a single crease or strand of hair is out of place.

Keith returns the gesture with an exaggerated bow of his own, knee scraping ground and fist over heart, the latter motion a sign of respect. “Princess Allura.”

They lift their eyes to smile at each other while their families exchange greetings more formally, none the wiser to their flippant use of etiquette. It’s all for show, anyway, since they’ve known each other for over a decade. Diplomats from both sides blend together seamlessly, the dark hues of the Galran emissary interweaving with the bright shades of the Altean court.

Beside Keith, his mother Krolia is speaking closely with King Alfor and Queen Alisandra, her intimidating size belying her gentle nature outside of combat. Keith catches the tail end of her explanation regarding his father’s absence.

“—Somehow got himself lost off the coast of Australia, where he was attacked by a beastly creature called the quokka, I believe.” King Alfor murmurs his concern while Queen Alisandra gasps sympathetically, clutching Krolia’s hands. “He insisted that we leave without him and sends his apologies.”

Keith stamps down a snort, knowing what a quokka _actually_ is. His father may have had his finger bitten by one — simply because he has a knack for provoking even the friendliest of animals to fight him — but a shallow flesh wound certainly wouldn’t have stopped him from flying.

They had sent Shiro to Earth in the hopes of retrieving him, though Keith has a sneaking suspicion the two are currently chasing kangaroos together in the wilderness, and probably won’t arrive until the last day of the week-long ceremony.

“You’ve really changed.” Allura’s voice draws back his attention. “It’s strange looking up at you.”

 _It’s rather enjoyable looking down at you_ , Keith considers joking, but he bites his tongue, knowing Allura would not hesitate to shank him in broad daylight, diplomatic entourage of witnesses be damned. 

“Your complexion resembles one of those little human fruits now. What are they called again, grah-pes?”

“Allura. They’re grapes.” Sometimes Keith wonders if she does that on purpose, butchering words in English even though she knows nearly all Earth languages by heart. “I had a growth spurt.”

“Clearly,” Allura teases, taking a moment to examine his full height. “Is Lance aware of this?” A sly smile crosses her face when Keith shakes his head. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure you’re looking forward to his reaction.”

Keith tries not to sound too eager when he asks: “Where is he?”

“On the training deck.” Allura’s voice drops a decibel quieter. “Father caught him sneaking out to Cera Kalma last night. Even _my_ ears are ringing from the lecture he got.”

“He was never caught whenever we snuck out together,” Keith remarks, smirking.

Allura shoots him a sharp look, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She glances at their families still deep in discussion, then subtly positions herself between them. “If you hurry, I’ll cover for you. I know you don’t want to be here.”

Keith nods in thanks, before slipping away with a press of his index to the side of his neck, mask flickering on. The fabric of his suit immediately melts into the surroundings, camouflaging his form as he makes his way down the bridge, toward the Castle.

Nine moon cycles have passed since the Blade of Marmora’s last visit, and beneath the flare of Altea’s three distant suns, Keith’s eyes have to adjust to the overwhelming light of the planet once more. However, he still has the layout of the Castle grounds memorized, after sneaking in the summer Lance turned sixteen. Lance had been upset that Keith couldn’t make it to the celebration, and Keith had been more than determined to make it up to him.

Needless to say, when Keith had climbed in through his bedroom window in the dead of night, Lance had woken up nearly half the Castle with his scream and almost ruined the surprise. Keith spent well over a varga hiding from the guards inside Lance’s enormous closet, before finally whisking Lance away to a field of juniberry flowers underneath the stars. He had prepared a picnic blanket, and Lance’s favorite dessert from back on Earth, and they had talked and laughed and watched the suns rise together.

(Though, quite honestly, Keith can’t remember much of the view. Only the look on Lance’s face as the light bloomed around him. How happy he seemed. How sweet the sugar tasted from his lips.)

That had been their first date, even if Lance still insists today that it doesn’t count, since they hadn’t _technically_ been together yet. Whatever. Keith had confessed his feelings literally right after. Lance just doesn’t want to admit Keith beat him to it.

He takes the secret entrance through the waterfall on the West side of the Castle, the one leading straight into the kitchen. He finds Coran in there among the staff, shouting instructions with military precision, a group of mice chopping vegetables on top of his chef’s hat. They start chattering excitedly when they pick up Keith’s scent, noses twitching, knife almost slicing Coran’s ear off.

“Quiznak, careful my little sous-chefs! We can’t have my niblets baked into the polkloen now!”

Keith snatches a yachsher bread roll for later, throwing a cheeky wave at the mice as he exits.

It doesn’t take him long to get to the training deck, dodging butlers and maids bussing down the hallways, too busy with preparations for the Prince’s coronation to notice random doors opening to thin air. All around him, colors are bursting: vibrant tapestries being flung into the light, filigree vases filled to the brim with juniberries and moonflowers. Underneath his feet, the gold-veined marble floors seem to shimmer, burnished to glossy perfection. Keith almost feels bad for trekking his grimy boots all over it.

When the doors to the training deck slide open, he keeps his camouflage on, entering silently. The thought of a prank tethers itself, drawn in by the earlier disappointment he felt when Lance hadn’t been there to greet him. Lance had known Keith would be arriving today after all, yet he had gone out and landed himself into trouble instead.

Had Lance not been anticipating their meeting as much as Keith had? 

Did he not care to see Keith, after so much time and distance?

_That’s stupid. Stop thinking that way._

Keith focuses his gaze on the center of the ring, where Lance stands poised in his training gear, a sleek, black jumpsuit that melds to every contour of his body. In his hands he wields a staff, balanced and polished, carving through the simulation bots with practiced ease. The end of the weapon tapers off into a serrated blade — Titian metal fused with Quintessence, strongest in the galaxy — tearing through armor as fluidly as water, sparks splashing.

He moves like the storm he was born from, the ocean he was discovered in. At once wholly lacking form yet utterly graceful. Keith finds himself holding his breath, watching him.

_Combat Level Twenty, Complete._

The shredded simulation bots descend into the floor. Lance dictates the end-training sequence and swings the staff to his side, breathing heavily. The staff retracts its length with a _shlink_.

“You’ve improved a lot,” Keith says, still invisible to the eye. He muffles a laugh when Lance nearly leaps out of his skin, eyes darting around the room.

“Coran, is that you?” he calls, grip tightening around his staff. “Where are you?”

His lithe body twists to survey the expanse of the training deck. Keith feels his throat dry at the svelte curve of his waist, imagining how it would fit against his hand now, whether his fingers would span the width of it. He walks closer.

“Right here.”

“Coran this isn’t funny!”

“Do I sound like Coran to you?”

“Oh hell no I freaking _knew_ this Castle was haunted!”

Keith does laugh this time, pushing off his hood while sliding a finger across his neck to deactivate the camouflage. When Lance catches sight of him, he still screams.

“Keith?!”

With running strides, Keith crosses the distance between them and wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, lifting him up with ease. He smiles proudly at the look of astonishment on Lance’s face — how light and comfortably he settles into his broadened arms, how perfectly they still fit together.

Unlike Keith himself, Lance hasn’t changed much in their time apart. Only become more beautiful. Strong. He’s flushed cherry pink, freckles star-bright across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is slightly damp from sweat, curling sweetly against his turquoise markings. He smells of honey and the promise of rain, like the longest of summer days back on Earth. 

Keith wants to bury his nose into the dip of his throat and breath in deep.

“Y-You—What— How tall are you?!” The staff clatters to the floor as Lance’s hands come to rest on Keith’s shoulders, blue eyes wide and mouth stretched in a small ‘o’.

Keith refrains from rolling his eyes, heart beating fondly. _Of course that’s the first thing he notices._

“Taller than you that’s for sure.”

Lance whines, beating his fist gently against Keith. “Curse your Galra genes! This is karma getting back at me for calling you a short-stack, isn’t it?”

“Told you not to get cocky about the one inch you had on me,” Keith teases, teeth flashing crookedly. He adjusts his hold, forearm sliding down to the back of Lance’s thighs, giving them a firm squeeze. Lance gasps softly, fingers flexing into the fabric of Keith’s suit. 

When he speaks again, his voice tinges shy. “You’re so big now…”

His hands slide up to cradle Keith’s jaw, thumbs brushing the delicate skin behind his ears. Keith shivers at the gentle touch as Lance’s eyes drink all of him in.

Unbidden, a beat of insecurity flutters through him. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Keith lowers his gaze and rests his forehead against Lance’s sternum. A part of him is nervous about this, whether the differences are too much for Lance, even though he knows it’s an irrational thought. 

Aside from growing taller, his complexion _has_ changed to somewhat of a grape, like Allura said. His skin is now a pale, lilac hue, with violet streaks cutting across his arms, legs, chest.He’s broadened out as well, shoulders wide and body heavy set with corded muscle. The sclera of his eyes glow a faint yellow, and even the color of his hair has changed, matching his mother’s two-toned ombré.

He lets Lance tilt his head back up. Almost purrs at the way Lance grazes his fingertips across his cheekbones, tracing the darker pattern slicing up his jaw.

“No,” Lance says, laugh lines crinkled. “Ignoring my wounded pride, a bigger you is _definitely_ not a bad thing. Plus you still have the same dumb mullet, so it’s not like you’ve had a complete runway makeover.”

Keith can’t decide whether to chase after Lance’s suggestive comment or groan at yet another jab to his hairstyle. Either way, he can’t help but smile too when Lance laughs, bright and airy.

“I like it. I like _you_ ,” he says, squishing Keith’s cheeks just slightly. “Obviously.”

Keith tucks his face again into Lance’s chest, trying to hide the heat on his face. Lance must see it in the tips of his ears though, because he’s giggling and pinching the cartilage there, running his hands through his hair.

“All right, let me back down to earth, big boy.” Lance pats his shoulders and Keith releases him, albeit reluctantly. He could easily carry Lance forever now, even if that’s impractical. Keith trails after him as he picks up the staff and heads to the cabinet where all the training weapons are stored.

“Heard you got into trouble,” he says, leaning against the wall while Lance places his staff in its clutch and locks it away.

“Ugh, yeah.” Lance pouts, eyes softening to something apologetic. “Uncle Alfor told me it was either gonna be house arrest or I had to beat all the simulations levels. I’ve been working my ass off on them all morning so that I could go see you, but I guess I didn’t finish on time.”

He walks over and slides his palms into Keith’s, looking up with an earnest frown. “I’m sorry.”

Keith laces their fingers together, lips half-tilted. “It’s okay. This just proves you can’t sneak out of the Castle without me.”

Lance aims a kick at his shin but Keith only laughs and tugs him closer, letting Lance pillow his cheek against his chest.

“Hey, the mice snitched on me, okay? Little traitors!” His voice vibrates through Keith, warm and petulant. “I was just running out to grab this new body scrub I wanted so that I could, you know…” He trails off into a mumble. Keith untangles one of their hands, resting it on the small of Lance’s back, thumbing the indent of dimples there.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Lance…” Keith chides, pressing soothing circles into his muscles, tight with tension. Lance melts against him, and Keith wishes there wasn’t the barrier of their respective suits in-between.

“I just wanted to look and smell my best, okay?” Lance eventually says, quietly. _For you_. The implication is there unspoken, but Keith can hear it in the delicate pulse of Lance’s wrist, see it match the flicker of his blue-soft marks.

Keith smiles, bending down to kiss his temple. “You don’t need anything to smell good to me.”

“Flatterer.” Lance glares at him lightly, untangling their hands to push at his chest. “I’m all sticky with sweat, there’s no way I smell good right now.”

“I beg to differ,” Keith hums, refusing to budge.

Everything about Lance’s scent is familiar and comforting, and Keith has been adrift without it for too many moons. He trails kisses down Lance’s cheekbones, making him laugh even as he protests, shifting his head. When Keith moves to kiss Lance properly, Lance throws his hands up to block the advance, pressing them against Keith’s mouth.

“I still need to shower!” he gripes, looking at Keith disapprovingly.

Keith kisses the inside of his palm to show him that that can wait, lips curving at the way Lance’s fingers tremble against him. All the words he had wanted to say during their time apart catch inside his throat, but Lance must see it in his eyes, the yearning and the heartache. _I missed you. So much._

It’s been nine moon cycles. A whole Earth year since they last saw each other.

Lance removes his hands and leans up on his tiptoes, brushing his mouth against Keith’s softly before pulling away. Keith chases after it, capturing his mouth in a burning kiss, parsing open the seam of his lips and slipping gently into his warmth.

Keith hasn’t felt this content in so long.

He’s too alien for Earth. Too human for Daibazaal.

Only with Lance, Keith feels at home.

 

☼ 

 

Daibazaal only ever has one season: cold as fuck.

Altea, on the other hand, experiences six seasons in total, ranging from mild spring climates to volcanic monsoons and icicle tornados.

That being said, the thick padding of Galran wear isn’t suited in the least for the heat of Altea’s summer. Keith’s Marmora suit gets shoved to the back of the closet, while the front hangers fill with a colorful array of Altean garments that Keith knows he will scarcely touch.

He quickly pulls out the darkest, most simplistic shirt that snags his eye and pushes all the rest to the side. The indigo tunic he selects is made of a loose, silken material, embroidered with gold detailing around the collar and sleeves. He tucks the ends of it into a pair of dark slacks that grip his thighs but otherwise hang comfortably, folding the hem into his boots where he can hide his blade in.

Outside the vaulted windows, Alla, Ahari, and Asha are rising in the East, bathing the Castle in golden light. Lance is waiting for him at the front entrance, two guards flanking him. A pale blue cloak covers his figure, matching the larimar earrings gleaming from his ears, framing his face handsomely.

“Good morning, Lord Keith. I trust you slept well?” Lance asks, tone pleasantly neutral despite the playful grin tugging at his lips. The prettiest blue still belongs to his eyes, Keith thinks dazedly, taking a beat too long to respond.

He clears his throat, collecting himself. “Yes, it was, uh, good. Your Highness.”

More than good, with Lance curled up in his arms. They had spent the night together, Lance sneaking in around midnight, the lilt of his voice soothing Keith to sleep. Lance must have slipped out at dawn, back to his own room to get ready for the day.

They used to do that often, before Keith left for his mission to the Outer Territories. No one knows about their relationship still save for Lance’s mamá and his cousin Allura, as well as Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge. Coran knows, too, since he was unfortunate enough to catch the two of them messing around in the kitchen one night, possibly ( _definitely_ ) using buttercream icing inappropriately.

God, Keith will never live that day down.

They had decided long ago that neither of them wanted the attention of a public relationship. People would inevitably scrutinize and politicize, and while the alliance between the kingdom of Altea and the new Marmoran governance is stronger than ever due to their partnership during the war, it’s still only been a little over fifteen Earth years since the fall of Zarkon’s empire. Perhaps a communion between the two sovereignties would be what’s needed to solidify the alliance, but both Keith and Lance wouldn’t trade the private intimacy of their relationship for anything in the universe. 

Today, they’re going out under the guise of one Crown Prince showing a fellow royal around the capital, an old friend at best.

Underneath his cloak, Lance pulls out a sable scarf, made of the same breathable material as the rest of Keith’s attire. He steps in close and wraps it carefully around Keith’s head, obscuring his hair and telltale ears.

“Sorry I fell asleep last night,” Keith murmurs as Lance takes his time, pretending to smooth over some imaginary crease. Lance smiles softly, trailing his hand down Keith’s chest.

“Make it up to me today.”

They set out for the center of the city, taking a nondescript hovercraft that silently drifts across fields of blooming juniberry blossoms, pollen scattering in the breeze. Lush, rolling mountains rise in the West, while in the South, the sky steeps into an opaline ocean, blue and endless on the horizon.

When they reach the city square, the streets are already cram-packed with vendors starting out for the day, their carts and canopies stacked against each other down the boulevards and alleyways. Sol Iris Market is a hub of commerce for life all over the Voltron Star System, a coalition consisting of five quadrants spanning over a dozen galaxies, the Milky Way included. Keith sees Balmerans selling medicinal herbs, Ixels auctioning precious ore, and Olkarions trading the latest biotech. He even sees humans like his father, strolling through in their crocs and Hawaiian button-ups, purchasing souvenirs and sampling green goo. 

There are humans selling their own products, too. Lance once said he loves it here the most because the sights and scents remind him of home. Keith can understand why, with the balmy air spiced with ginger and basil and star anise, bright with chatter and lemon-soaked sunlight. Despite the bustle, the Market feels comfortable and tranquil. Saffron, indigo draperies billow against the sky, dousing the ground with patches of cool, lavender shade. Children scamper in-between limbs, chasing each other with sticky fingers stuck to caramel brittle and custard buns.

Still, Keith can’t fully relax. It’s only six days until Lance’s coronation after all, and while the Altean royal family is universally known to be loved by all, anything could happen.

He’s so busy scanning the area for any sign of danger that he startles when Lance bumps his shoulder against his arm. He looks down to see Lance smiling at him, half-fond and half-exasperated.

“You’re so worried about me, you forget you’re a Lord of a royal family, too.”

“You’re watching my back aren’t you?” Keith says, more of a reminder than a question. “I have nothing to worry about.”

Their knuckles graze against each other, a tingle of warmth running up Keith’s arm. He can’t act on the urge to hold Lance’s hand though, not when they’re in the company of the royal guards. Not when they’re not in disguise.

Lance keeps his hood up to shroud his hair, but anyone who takes a long enough look at his face would know who he is. He stops at a particular stand, eyes lighting up at the cartons piled high with vibrant, succulent fruit. Keith stands close behind and listens with amazement, not for the first time, as Lance barters in fluent Faushto with the fruit vendor, the throaty syllables falling smooth as syrup.

Keith has only ever bothered to learn the languages of those he cares about: his mother’s Galran tongue, his father’s Southern dialect, and Lance’s melodic Altean. Lance, however, knows roughly two hundred languages and counting. It’s the one subject he has a genuine love for, while arithmetics and physics send him piloting out the Castle.

The fruit vendor is so charmed by Lance’s easy banter that he gives him double the amount for the price, dropping in a handful of gem-like candies, too. When the guards are busy inspecting the perimeter, Lance leans up to kiss Keith on the lips, slipping the candy between their tongues. Keith can’t help the groan of discontent when Lance pulls away too soon, wanting nothing more than to savor him.

They had been interrupted yesterday, Allura walking in on Keith pinning Lance against the wall of the training deck. She had simply rolled her eyes, but told them that there were meetings and preparations to discuss, so the two of them had no choice but to put their reunion on hold.

The gnawing ache inside Keith’s belly hasn’t left since.

They make their way through the Market, snacking on warm breads and fragrant meats, Lance trying to teach Keith phrases in Faushto and other languages while Keith tells him about his time beyond the Rift. Every so often, Lance steals a kiss, effectively driving Keith a little crazier each time. Lance seems to be enjoying himself though, swiping his tongue across his cheshire grin whenever he succeeds. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, keeping his gaze forward as they examine a row of wind chimes made of sun-bleached bone. The merchant behind the booth pitches that they’ll throw in the rare carcass of a moon shark if they purchase a dozen. “Wanna ditch the guards?”

“ _Please_.”

Lance laughs at the eagerness in Keith’s tone, thanking the merchant for his time before moving on. “I have a plan. Follow me.”

At the next gust of wind, he loosens the collar of his cloak, letting it drag away. The garment smacks into one of the guards standing behind him, the other scrambling to help him get it off. It takes a dobash too long, and it’s enough time for Lance to grab Keith’s hand and run.

“Your Highness! Stop!”

The wind carries away the note of Lance’s laughter as they sprint through the Market, hand in hand. They weave past carts and canopies and bewildered onlookers, a flock of kids joining in halfway. For the price of all of the sweets inside Lance’s bag, the kids help them duck through a series of secret passageways, until they’re in a secluded grove of honeyblossom trees on the outskirts of the city square.

Lance thanks all of them for their help and gives each of them a hug, the kids giggling and wishing their Prince best of luck at his coronation. Keith leans against the trunk of a tree and watches them, smiling at the ease with which Lance earns their respect and admiration.

“We’ll definitely come see you!” they say, waving bye and running off. When the last of them disappear into the nooks and crannies of the city, Lance stands up, walking over to Keith. 

“Morning again,” he says, looping his arms around Keith’s neck, pulling him down. Keith hums a ‘good morning’ back as they melt into each other. It’s hardly a kiss with the way their smiles keep bumping, unable to contain the happiness of finally being alone. 

“Here, I brought disguises,” Lance says, giving Keith’s lips one more peck before rustling through his tote bag. It had been hiding underneath his cloak, stuffed to the brim with the fruits he purchased earlier and who knows what else.

Out comes a pair of sunglasses attached to a plastic nose and a neon-orange mustache. Lance slides them on with a wiggle of his eyebrows, making Keith burst into laughter.

“Where the hell did you get those?”

“Pidge gave them to me last summer,” Lance explains, digging through his bag for more. “Wait, I have the perfect beard for you, seriously. You’re gonna look so hobo-chic. Kinda like Jack Sparrow, except furrier.”

“Great,” Keith deadpans, but he’s grinning and letting Lance dress him up, because he’s a weak, weak man completely at the mercy of Lance’s beck and call.

While Lance decks him out, he chatters on, blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “I was thinking our backstory could be like, a farmer couple from Arizona who lost all their dinosaur chickens in a tragic fire, and now we’re trying to rebuild our lives around milking hippos on Pluto. We’re on vacation right now though, cause we’ve heard _so much_ about the amazing, talented, dashing Crown Prince Lance, and— Oh, babe, you gotta strip!”

“You don’t need to dress me up just to get me naked, Lance.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

By the time they’re done, Keith’s wearing a truly hideous beard that obscures most of his face, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a worn, red flannel that barely fits over his torso. He’s traded his slacks for a pair of too tight jeans, and part of him wonders if that’s less for the aesthetic and more for Lance’s personal enjoyment. Judging by the slow, appreciative smile on his face, Keith assumes the latter. 

Lance ducks into the grove to change on his own. When he pops back out, Keith’s torn between a laugh and a dry throat, heart rate kicking up either way.

They’re essentially wearing the same outfit, except Lance’s is so much more… exposed. His dark blue flannel is cropped, ends tied in a knot at his midriff, revealing a slip of toned abs. Ripped, denim shorts hug his thighs, while heeled cowboy boots cover his calves. He must’ve applied foundation to his skin, because none of his floral, geometric marks bleed through. On his head rests an identical straw hat, complete with the sunglass-fake nose-mustache set.

“How do I look?” Lance asks, doing a little spin. Keith can’t take him seriously with those stupid glasses on, but he’s still having trouble forming words, struck dumb by the curve of Lance’s long, smooth legs.

God, he’s so whipped.

“Not like you work on a farm,” he finally manages.

Lance waves his hand, shoving all their discarded clothes into his tote bag. “Hey, cut me some slack. I couldn’t find my overalls so this was the next best thing.”

When he stands back up again, Keith cups his waist, reeling him in. His attempt to kiss Lance is thwarted though by their wide-brimmed hats, and Lance laughs as he curses around a mouthful of fake beard.

“You look stupid, yet weirdly sexy, so I think we’re all set.” Lance tugs on his beard playfully and smiles, linking their hands together. “Come on, let’s go farm partner.”

They spend the rest of the morning exploring every section of the Market, bartering for trinkets to give to Hunk and Pidge, and eating all the street food they can find. Around noon, they take the hyperloop system to the heart of the industrial district, where the festivities leading up to Lance’s coronation are in full swing. Altea’s national flag billows high from buildings and floating airships, the embossed juniberry flower matching the ocean of petals saturating the streets. A parade glides down the main boulevard, enacting the history of Altea, from the legend of Voltron to the myth of the three sister suns, Alla, Ahari, and Asha.

By late afternoon, Keith ditches the itchy beard and the equally itchy straw hat, pretty certain no one’s still looking to escort him back to the Castle or assassinate him in broad daylight. Lance also discards his hat and fake mustache set, trading it in for a normal pair of sunglasses that he perches on the crown of his head.

In the gilt of the setting suns, Lance’s hair catches the light, flames and crimsons threading through his curls. His freckles fade into the dewy shimmer of his bronzed skin, blue eyes half-gold. Keith can’t stop looking at him, re-memorizing the slope of his nose and the crinkle of his smile, hardly paying attention to the celebrations around them.

Eventually, they find themselves in a quiet alley, empty of everything but a warm slice of sun. Lance slumps against the wall and sighs, finally registering his own tiredness after dragging Keith all around the city.

“Worn yourself out yet, Your Highness?”

Lance scoffs, righting himself. “As if. Just need to eat a bit.”

“Again?”

“My stomach is a bottomless pit and I am not ashamed.”

He rustles through the bag that Keith’s now carrying, pulling out a peach-like fruit, fuzzy and red. When Lance bites into it, pink juice slides down his chin, dripping onto his wrist. He makes a pleased sound and holds it up for Keith to taste, but Keith gently grasps his wrist instead, leaning in to lick the juice from Lance’s skin.

The flavor reminds him of apple, but it cloys to his tongue like honey. Keith closes his eyes and strokes Lance’s hand clean, and neither of them speak even as the fruit falls from Lance’s grip.

“K-Keith,” Lance gasps, as Keith sucks his fingertips into his mouth, finally able to savor his taste. His gasp breaks off into a moan, and when Keith opens his eyes, he can see the way Lance’s pupils dilate, the black swallowing blue. His chest heaves and his back bows; Keith can smell the arousal soaking through him, thick and heady. Already wet. Already waiting.

He slips out Lance’s fingers and licks into his open mouth, pressing his leg in-between his parted thighs. Lance grinds against him, arching into the kiss, nimble hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

The buttons pop and scatter across the asphalt. Lance frantically pushes the garment off, nails scraping into Keith’s shoulders, every needy sound skewering Keith hotly. He growls as he grips Lance’s ass through his shorts, tugging him forward and pushing them chest to chest.

“Wait, ah, we shouldn’t do this here,” Lance suddenly says, gently shoving Keith away. It takes a few breaths for Keith to collect himself, thrown by the change in mood. Lance is already pulling out the tunic Keith wore this morning, pressing it into his hands. 

As he tugs the shirt on, Keith wonders what changed. He doesn’t know why they had to stop. They’ve done this before: Keith’s fingers stuffed into Lance’s wet, mewling mouth to muffle his broken sounds as Keith fucked into him from behind. Pushing Lance’s back against the wall and hoisting his lush thighs around his shoulders to eat him out, growling against the pleasure-pain of Lance’s fingers digging into his hair.

Keith remembers the impossible pleasure of it, those sticky, summer afternoons, and his gut aches for that feeling again.

But if Lance wanted to stop — if he suddenly felt shy or unsafe — Keith would always put his comfort first.

“Sorry, I just. I don’t want to get caught. Not now when…” Lance trails off, smoothing down his ruffled hair, biting the swell of his bottom lip nervously. Keith understands the meaning well enough, and winces at his own self for getting carried away.

“It’s fine. I should be the one to apologize.” He drops a kiss into Lance’s hair, and Lance reaches around for a hug, burying his face into Keith’s chest.

“It’s not _your_ fault I’m so irresistible,” he mumbles. Keith huffs a laugh, feeling the curve of Lance’s smile against his heart.

They still have tomorrow, and the rest of the week.

Keith could wait.

 

☼ 

 

 

Lance is busy with preparations all of next morning, leaving Keith to wander the Castle.

He finds himself in the company of the mice as he makes his way to the hangar, searching for the hover bike he left there two summers ago. At the time, it had been Allura’s coronation. Lance had been so proud, and a little heartbroken, knowing he wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with his cousin anymore.

Keith kept him company all summer, taking him on adventures around the planet, making sure he never felt lonely.

The mice squeak excitedly as Keith works on his hover bike, passing him the right tools whenever he asks. It’s been kept in good condition, but still needs some maintenance. Keith’s always found that working with his hands helps him take his mind off things, and right now he sorely needs the distraction.

Lance had retired early yesterday, and didn’t wait for Keith before falling asleep. Keith had been hoping to pick things up where they left off, but he should’ve figured Lance would be too exhausted from the day and the stress of the coronation.

Still… Keith couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Even this morning, when the two of them woke up tangled together, Lance had pushed him away and rushed out in a hurry. They used to indulge in morning sex all the time, an activity that Lance particularly loved, but it seemed like it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

 _Maybe if you stopped thinking with your dick,_ Keith berates himself, nicking his finger when he twists the wrench too hard. He scowls at the radiator hose above him, willing all the blood back to his head so that he could focus on the task at hand instead of Lance’s long legs and cute, perky ass.

By noon, he’s managed to sweat off all the pent up energy simmering inside him, arms thoroughly greased with motor oil. He takes a quick shower before taking his hover bike for a ride, letting the wind dry his hair. After a good several hours, the mice clinging to his shoulder and the cradle of his hood start to protest from hunger, and Keith makes the descent back to Castle.

When he enters the kitchen, the last person he expects to see is sitting at the counter, face buried in a bowl of green goo.

“ _Dad?_ ”

“Hey, son,” Kenn says around a mouthful of goo, sparing a glance and a smile before becoming the human equivalent of a vacuum cleaner. He doesn’t even bat an eye at Keith’s changed appearance, only inhales food faster than he can swallow.

Keith slides into one of the spare stools, mice scampering down his arm toward the basket of vegetables. Beside him, Shiro is also nursing a bowl of goo, though less ravenously. Keith greets him with a shoulder-clap hug before whispering: “I didn’t think you’d actually convince him to come.”

Shiro looks like he can hardly believe it either. He also looks like he’s aged ten years. “Lured him back with the promise of a hot meal. Your dad’s been living off canned beans and lizard tails.”

“Reason why your father’s so short,” Krolia says flatly as she passes by. She wraps her arms around Kenn’s shoulders from behind and drops a kiss on top of his head. “Remember to breathe, love.” 

Kenn actually pauses his furious shoveling for more than a second this time, turning his head to lean into Krolia’s touch. Keith hears a quiet, “I missed you,” while Krolia wipes the goo from Kenn’s lips, the scene so grossly domestic he might gag.

“You’re just as bad with Lance,” Shiro says, staring at his goo politely.

“Shuddup.”

And just like that, for the first time in years, the family’s all back together. Keith listens to Kenn’s adventures when he’s finally done eating, tales about pink-scaled crocodiles in Venezuela and Big Foot tracks found under the sea. Keith’s not sure if half of it is even true, but it feels like old times again, when it was just him and his dad and the shack.

When night falls, Keith wants to see if Lance is done for the day, heading toward the West wing where his room is. He’s halfway there when he sees Lance standing in the corridor, gazing out the window like he’s lost in thought, drowned in moonlight.

He barely startles when Keith’s arms hook around his waist, tugging him back into Keith’s chest. The delicate patterns on his shoulders glow softly as Keith trails his lips against them, breathing in Lance’s clean scent. He feels the tension in Lance’s body gradually loosen.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb stroking over Lance’s stomach. Lance hums, threading their fingers together, nose gently tracing the curve of Keith’s cheek.

“Yeah, just stressed, you know?”

“Let’s go spar. It’ll take your mind off things.”

“That’s _your_ self-care regime. I’m more of a spa and manipedi kind of guy.”

Nonetheless, Lance follows Keith to the training deck, unable to resist the chance of a challenge. They grew up sparring together, the Blade of Marmora tutoring the both of them. Keith used to laugh at the way Lance would follow him around, challenging him left and right, declaring him a rival.

Lance became unbeatable with a sniper and a bow and arrow. Any form of long-range weapon, really. Keith still holds the upper-hand in close-range combat, but having seen the way Lance fought a few days ago, Keith wonders if they would be more evenly matched now in that regard.

They grab the practice staffs from their clutch and take position on the ring. Lance spirals his staff in the air before sinking into a fighting stance, the slant of his smile confident.

“Are you ready for the ceremony?”

Keith swings the staff hard and Lance catches it with his own, the thud of metal on metal vibrating through. Lance buckles under the sheer force of him, but only an inch, holding strong. The lithe frame of his figure conceals his true strength; Keith can see the sinew of the muscles in his arms, knotted hard with tension. 

“More or less,” Lance hums, as if he isn’t gritting his teeth against the blow. When he’s unable to maintain his stance any longer, he ducks away, spinning his staff out of the fall of Keith’s. “I can’t know anything about the ritual itself. Whether or not I pass the White Lion’s test after I enter Oriande is a whole other pickle altogether.”

Keith recovers and circles Lance, planning his next attack. “Allura won’t give you a hint?”

“No. Obviously I tried, but that would ruin the virtue of the test, wouldn’t it?”

 _True,_ Keith thinks, though he finds the whole thing strange and tedious to begin with. On Daibazaal, all you have to do to become King is defeat those in challenge for the throne and light the fire of Kral Zera. Simple enough, compared to playing mind games with an astral plane lion in the mythical birthplace of Altean alchemy.

Suddenly Lance is there, his staff whistling through the air as he brings it down hard and fast. Keith barely has time to raise his own, barely manages to catch the blow.

“Keep up, babe,” Lance taunts. Keith growls at the smug look on his face, hating how much he loves it.

When Lance lowers his staff and backs up, Keith doesn’t give him a chance to breathe. He seizes the opening and charges.

Lance’s eyes flash as he blocks and blocks again, quick as lightning. The clang of metal on metal crackles in Keith’s ears as he persists, battering Lance’s defenses, looking for a way in. But Lance is always there, like a door slamming in Keith’s face.

It does something to Keith, seeing the fire blazing inside him. It ignites one in Keith’s own gut, roiling hot.

When Lance moves on the offensive, Keith ducks, sliding past Lance and cleaving the staff from his hands on an upward swing. He twists around and slams the flat edge of his staff across Lance’s shoulders, pushing him backwards and barring him against his chest. Keith traps Lance in a near choke hold, staff sliding up to press against Lance’s throat as he struggles to get out of it.

“Yield—” Keith says, but then Lance shoves his elbow into his diaphragm and slips out of the collar, kicking his legs forward and up, curving over Keith’s body. Keith can’t believe he forgot how damn flexible Lance is, and the surprise loosens his grip, practically handing Lance the opportunity to disarm him.

Lance tugs the staff out of his grasp and lands behind, sweeping his feet against Keith’s calves in one smooth motion to knock him flat onto his back. The next thing Keith knows, Lance is straddling his hips, the end of the staff grazing Keith’s throat.

“ _Yield_ ,” Lance commands, sitting triumphantly on top of him. Keith snarls, desire nearly dizzying. He can smell it on Lance, too. The pride and the heat and the pleasure.

“I yield.”

His voice comes out hoarse. Lance’s eyes are burning, the fall and rise of his chest uneven as he arcs the staff to the side, folding its length.

Keith reaches up to grip his hips, the image of Lance, naked and flushed, saturating his mind. Lance would ride him so good, tight little hole milking him, ass cheeks cherry red from the slap of his palms. Lance would cry out every time, beg through his kiss-swollen lips for more. Beg to be fucked hard and fast until he’s pumped full with Keith’s come. Beg to be ruined again and again.

Keith’s about to make that image a reality when Lance suddenly forces him back and scrambles off of his lap, cheeks flaming.

“I’m uh, tired. Gotta go,” he says in a rush, racing out the door without a look back. 

He leaves Keith lying there on the floor of the training deck, wondering what the hell just happened. That’s the second time Lance has rejected his advances, and this time it looked like he was desperately trying to get away from him.

The thought makes a cold and heavy weight sink inside Keith’s chest. 

_Did I do something wrong?_

 

☼ 

 

Keith’s starving.

But not for the spread of food in front of him. As appetizing as it appears and would probably taste, he’d much rather feast on something — _someone_ — else.

Lance sits next to him at the breakfast table, either oblivious or staunchly ignoring the tension between the two of them. Keith guesses the latter, judging by the nervous tapping of his fingers against his knee as he adamantly tries to chat with Keith’s dad. 

“Mr. Kogane, have you found Big Foot yet?”

Allura shoots him a bemused look from across the table as he and Kenn spiral away with the conversation, then directs the look at Keith. Keith doesn’t like the way her eyes narrow. She knows Lance has never entertained the idea of Earth cryptids like Keith has, and she has a creepy sixth sense when it comes to Lance and Keith going through one of their “marital spats,” as she and Hunk so dubs them.

 _What happened?_ She mouths at Keith. Keith simply chugs his water doggedly, accepting the tater-tot Allura chucks at his face.

Around the table, Coran flits up and down, distributing plates of yellow pastry and pouring drinks into everyone’s cups. “Eat up, eat up now,” he says, a bundle of manic energy. Keith wonders if he’s been chewing jabbahutt edibles again. “This is a leek and bacon quee-shee. Lance’s Earth friend Hunk gave me the recipe.”

“Quiche, Coran,” Lance corrects kindly, digging in. He still hasn’t spoken a word to Keith yet, or even looked his way. Keith feels a twinge of annoyance, but mostly hurt. 

Lance hadn’t visited his room last night, leaving Keith to toss and turn restlessly until dawn, debating whether or not he should go to Lance or give him space. He wanted to figure what was off between them, whether it was something he did or if Lance wasn’t feeling well and just not telling him about it. It’s strange for Lance to be so closed off to Keith, especially after how long they’ve been together.

It didn’t help that Keith was so turned on last night that he nearly froze his balls off in a varga-long shower just to calm himself down. He needed to talk to Lance with a clear head, but even now with both royal families and all attendants present at breakfast, Keith can still feel the aftershocks of those heated moments with Lance, throbbing hot inside his gut.

It’s so bad he’s imagining taking Lance on the table right here. Imagines ripping Lance’s pajamas off with his teeth, burying himself deep into Lance’s tight heat. He wants to watch Lance writhe on the thick of his cock, gasp and shake at the difference.

Lance would look so pretty. Blue eyes swallowed with need. Bright tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

It’s been too long since they last held each other that way, and Keith craves him desperately.

“Keith, aren’t you hungry?”

Finally, Lance is looking at him, brows creased with concern. In the morning light, he looks so soft it makes Keith’s chest ache. Brown curls ruffled, marks a quiet, baby blue. His lips are glossed with maple syrup, pancake crumbs stuck to the edges of his mouth.

Before Keith even registers it himself, he’s reaching over, thumb brushing the corner of Lance’s mouth to swipe off the crumbs. “You’ve got something here,” he says gently, before licking his thumb clean. At Lance’s shocked face, he wonders if he’s messed up again, before remembering that they have an audience.

A large, very prominent audience that has just gone completely silent.

“And he complains _I’m_ bad,” Krolia gripes, a laugh trapped behind her teeth as she cuts into her pancake. Allura clears her throat, also having a hard time keeping her face neutral, while everyone else tries to resume eating like they saw nothing. Lance is the shade of a tomato, looking down into his lap. Keith knows he must be a purpler version of the same shade, but he doesn’t know where else to look except at Lance, wishing he’d return the gaze. 

“How long have the two of you been together, Keith?” King Alfor asks politely. Keith sputters, not prepared for this moment. He had thought of it countless times before, asking King Alfor if he could court Lance properly for his hand in marriage, but he never anticipated the secret would slip out this way.

“Since my sixteenth birthday, Uncle,” Lance cuts in. He reaches for Keith’s hand under the table, and Keith holds it with a quiet sigh of relief. “I was going to announce it after my coronation.”

That comes as a surprise to Keith, since they’ve never discussed it together before. Lance glances at him shyly, as if to ask if that’s okay, and all Keith wants to do is wrap him up and kiss him breathless.

“We’re very happy for the two of you,” Queen Alisandra says, eyes twinkling. “We’ve always wished for something like this to happen. Isn’t that right, Krolia?”

Krolia merely shrugs noncommittally, feigning innocence.

The rest of breakfast goes past smoothly, but afterwards when Keith tries to pull Lance away so that they could speak in private, Lance runs off again.

Keith doesn’t see him for the rest of the day.

 _Lance isn’t avoiding me,_ he tells himself, trying to stamp out the barbed anxiety scraping against his ribs. Not when he made that announcement during breakfast, declaring that he planned on going public with Keith after the coronation. Not when he held Keith’s hand like that, warm and solid and safe. It didn’t match with his other behavior, pushing Keith away whenever they got too intimate, but at least this means that Lance still wanted him, right?

By nightfall, Keith is pacing a hole into the floor, waiting for Lance to show up in his room like he usually did. When he doesn’t for nearly a varga, Keith pulls on a shirt, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

It’s the fourth night of his stay. There would be one more day before the ceremony, and then Keith would leave the next morning. For however long this time, he doesn’t know. The Outer Territories are still unsure of whether or not to join the Coalition, and as a potential future ruler of the new Marmoran regime, Keith can’t shirk his duty of convincing the people beyond the Rift to trust in their kind again.

Lance would have duties of his own, too, assuming a role as an ambassador of Altea and Earth, and being next in line after Allura for the throne. 

They didn’t have much time left to be together.

Keith heads down the hallway to Lance’s quarters, being careful to avoid the guards rotating throughout the Castle. There’s another two keeping post in front of the door, but Keith simply slips out a window and onto the ledge that leads to Lance’s balcony. He crawls over the banister and steps into the room, eyes adjusting to the bright lighting.

“Lance?” Keith calls, not wanting to scare him and cause another closet fiasco.

“Keith?” Lance appears from behind his bathroom door, face mask and bathrobe on, like he’s getting ready for bed. Without Keith.

Keith walks over and tries not to sound upset when he asks: “Why didn’t you come over again?” He doesn’t want to assume the worst, but Lance isn’t making it easy.

A myriad of emotions flit over Lance’s eyes before he settles on one, voice staunchly flat. “I’ve been moisturizing my face.”

“All night?”

“Beauty is a heavy burden.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith growls, not in the mood for bullshit tonight. He’s been stressed all day and yesterday, and he needs to know what’s wrong so that he can fix it. He hates it when they actually fight, but they always get through it. Together.

Lance rips his face mask off and tosses it onto the counter, wrapping his arms around his bathrobe tightly, unable to meet Keith’s eyes. At the way he closes off, the cold, heavy weight settles back into Keith’s chest, hollowing him out.

“If you don’t want me anymore, just tell me,” he says, turning away before Lance could see just how gutted he is.

Maybe the time apart had been too much this time. Maybe _Keith_ had changed too much, and Lance couldn’t accept it, didn’t feel the same way about him anymore. It’s an irrational thought, but…

“What, no!” Keith feels Lance grip his arm, and turns back around to see Lance glaring up at him. “How could you even think that?!”

A spark of anger jolts through. “How else am I supposed to think with the way you’ve been acting! You ran from me yesterday and you ran from me today!”

“There’s a reason for that!”

“A reason you can’t tell me?”

“Yes, why can’t you just—”

“Because you’re not making any sense—!”

“I’m trying to practice self-control, you idiot!” Lance yells, loud enough to shock Keith to silence. Dimly, he hopes the walls are soundproof enough that the guards outside didn’t hear. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk for weeks, but I can’t go limping down the aisle for my ceremony!”

At that, Keith blushes a deep, burning red, even though he’s thought of much filthier things in his own mind. Hey, it’s different when Lance says it out loud, okay? Only in Keith’s darkest fantasies has Lance ever said something like that.

Seeing Keith’s dumbfounded expression, Lance huffs, releasing Keith’s arm. “There, now you know. It’s not what you were thinking, but geez I can’t believe you made me say something so embarrassing.” He grumbles and gripes under his breath some more, patting his blush hot cheeks, scrunching close his eyes.

Keith tries to find his voice, still reeling. “That’s… seriously the only reason? Because you think I’d…”

“Oh, you’d wreck me, and I’d want you to,” Lance says matter-of-factly, hopping onto the counter to sit. He pulls Keith forward until he’s standing in-between his knees, hooking his arms around Keith’s neck, smile fond and exasperated. “But there’s no way that can happen before all this coronation business is over with.”

“We wouldn’t have to go all the way,” Keith mumbles, hanging his head. He tries to suppress his rumble of discontent as Lance giggles and strokes his hair, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. 

“Nuh-uh. No way. I know for sure that if we get started, I wouldn’t be able to control myself. And since I’m _your_ impulse control, you’d give into me too easily once I started begging.”

Keith groans, knowing how true that is. He feels so silly now, jumping to the conclusion that the reason why Lance was avoiding him was because he didn’t want him. That honestly made no sense, putting everything together. Once again he was only thinking with his dick.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, dropping his forehead against Lance’s, feeling comforted and relieved when he hears Lance murmur that it’s okay. “I just. I want you _so bad_. You’re—”

“Irresistible, I know.” Lance kisses him again, and Keith wonders how he could ever feel unwanted with someone so loving and warm. “Me, too. It’s been really hard keeping myself away from you. You’re so damn hot I can’t stand it. I keep wanting to jump your bones.”

Keith wraps his arms tight around Lance’s waist and buries his face into his neck, skin flushed hot from his words. Lance hugs him back just as tight, smile dancing on his lips as he whispers, warm and sweet: “After the ceremony you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Anything?” Keith’s ears perk up and Lance laughs, gently tugging his hair so that they can look at each other.

In the creamy glow of the bathroom light, Lance’s cheeks are dusted pink, blue eyes as bright as the stars.

“Promise.”

.

.

.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 5000 years I finally finished this lmao. Thank you to you-know-who-you-are for commissioning me to write this. Definitely died multiple times in the process lol. Again, special thanks @emuyhn too for allowing me to draw inspiration from their artwork for this fic!!
> 
> HAPPY LANCE MONTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When Lance wakes up, Keith isn’t there by his side. 

Rolling onto his stomach, his hands curl into the empty sheets, cool and crisp to the touch. It takes him a moment to remember why Keith’s warmth isn’t next to him. Why his fingers aren’t running through Keith’s messy hair. Why he isn’t peppering Keith’s face with slow, good morning kisses, Keith pretending to be asleep until his smile gives him away. 

_You made this choice_ , Lance reminds himself, even as his heart beats painfully. _It’s just for one more day._

In a strange, masochistic way, Lance is almost proud of himself for following through on his promise — the promise to not let Keith and him get too carried away during the week, all for the sake of his coronation. Maybe it was an over-the-top precaution, but Lance wanted to be absolutely perfect for the big day, and that unfortunately meant keeping a distance from Keith. 

Easier said than done, of course. 

Being without Keith is a constant, physical ache after all, especially after growing through a year apart. When the heir to the new Galra empire had to leave in order to secure the Outer Territories still resistant to the fledgling alliance, Lance had put on a brave face and wished him safe travels, telling Keith not to worry about him. Naturally, Keith saw right through him, and the misery in his own eyes had torn down the last of Lance’s resolve. 

“Don’t let me go. Tell me to stay,” Keith had begged him, kissing him such desperate tenderness Lance felt he would break apart from it. But Lance knew how important the securement of the alliance would be to the galaxy’s future — _to our future, love_ — and had gently pushed Keith away. 

They weren’t able to communicate beyond the Rift due to the isolation of the exoplanets. They weren’t able to see or speak to each other for nine moon cycles. Twelve whole Earth months. 

When a messenger from the Galran envoy came to Altea halfway through the mission to report on progress, he brought back a letter from Keith addressed to Lance. Handwritten and ten pages long, full of awkward yet earnest sentences that read just like the way he spoke. Lance missed him more than ever that day, the ache in his heart so painful he couldn’t breathe. 

The letter still sits safely in his bedside table, among all the other mementos Keith has given him over the years. A conch shell from the first time Keith met Lance’s family in Cuba. A pressed blue flower from the ocean planet of Lazuli, because it had reminded Keith of Lance’s eyes when he saw it. 

There’s also a haphazard (but adorable) shark plushie Lance keeps by his pillow, something that Keith had painstakingly hand-sewn himself, just because he wanted to give Lance a present on no particular day. 

Lance plants a kiss on the shark plushie’s snout before tumbling out of bed, padding to his bathroom to get ready for the day. He takes his time with his morning ritual, cleansing and moisturizing every pore until he’s dewy soft. Miraculously, he hasn’t developed any stress pimples. Allura and Auntie keep telling him he’s glowing, especially in the past few days since Keith came back. Lance can’t see that same glow, but he can feel it, bursting at the seams of his smile. 

He strips down and steps into the shower, sighing contently as the hot water washes over him. Eyes closing shut, he thinks back to the way Keith had barged into his room last night, somehow convincing himself that Lance no longer wanted him. 

_He’s so dumb_ , Lance thinks, giggling. _Tells me I overthink yet look at him._  

Lance had kissed Keith stupid in the aftermath, making sure the half-Galran knew just how much Lance adored him, growth spurt, purple skin, and all. Keith had walked out of his room in a daze, nearly falling off the balcony ledge. 

_After the ceremony, you can do anything you want to me._

_Anything?_

Lathering his body with soap, Lance bites back a moan when his fingers brush over his opening, gently dipping them in-between the folds. He’s still slick down there, throbbing tender and sore after touching himself last night. Alteans are hermaphrodites, and though Lance is only half, he seems to have inherited his father’s morphology. At the base of his cock his taint opens up, soft and plump, followed by the furl of his tight hole. Keith joked with him once that that was his favorite place in the whole world, Lance smacking his dumb, sleepy face with a pillow. 

Drawing his hand away, Lance tries to center himself, clearing his head. This was why he had to keep some form of distance from Keith; just the mere thought of him is too much. Sex with him has always been… overwhelming. In the best way. Lance feels it in his body for days afterwards, and he knows if it was up to Keith, they wouldn’t leave the room for days either. 

They did that once, when they had escaped to the Maldives for a rare, two week vacation. Keith made love to him almost every waking moment, worshipping his body and making Lance feel like the most cherished thing in the universe. 

When he’s done showering, Lance bundles himself up into a fluffy robe and heads to his closet, slipping into a baby blue, sleeveless crop top and white, comfy trousers. He takes a short breath to admire himself in the mirror before stepping out of his room, greeting the guards at his door good morning. 

It’s another sultry, summer day in Altea, syrupy sunlight streaming in through the ceiling length windows. Lance makes his way to the royal gardens, greeting all the staff members who bow to him as they pass by, pilfering a loberry danish from chef Heidi’s tray. The castle is immaculate, and Lance’s heart swells with gratitude at everyone working so hard for his coronation. 

A part of him wonders if he’s deserving of any of it, if he’s truly capable of becoming the Crown Prince for an entire planet of people. He hasn’t even passed the ritual rights yet. What if the ancestors of Altea deem him unworthy? He’s just a boy from Cuba, after all. He’s just Lance. 

_Stop devaluing yourself_ , Keith would tell him. Lance could practically hear the displeased growl of his voice, the firm weight of his hands cradling his cheeks.  

When Lance catches sight of him near the garden grounds — sitting on a sun-drenched ledge, eyes closed and back leaning against a pillar — he has to stop to take a stolen breath. Restart the warm, wild flutter of his heart. In the morning light, Keith is the very vision of a prince. Tall, dark, and handsome; the slant of his body relaxed yet confident. It’s so different but so much more fitting, this self-assuredness that’s settled within him over the years, making him the leader Lance has always known he was capable of being.  

With each step forward, Lance admires the way Keith’s hair falls across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, the bow of his lips soft and untroubled. He looks so peaceful resting there, soaking up the golden warmth. The Gods must’ve loved him dearly — _but not as much as me_ — to have carved him so beautifully. 

Gradually, Keith’s eyes flutter open, having sensed Lance’s presence. His head tilts away from the sunlight, lips curving into a gorgeous smile as he looks at Lance, swinging his leg off the ledge and straightening up. 

“Hey.” Lance waves shyly, feeling like a teenager again. Young and dumb and so in love. Even after five years of being together as a couple, Lance probably won’t ever get over the thrill of it. 

“Mornin,” Keith answers. The rough quality of his voice makes Lance shiver as he steps into the space between Keith’s legs, the pull to him ever magnetic. “Did you sleep well?”

Sliding his hands up Keith’s shoulders and looping his arms around Keith’s neck, Lance shakes his head with a pout. “Not as good without you.” 

Keith doesn’t touch him, but Lance catches the way his fingers curl into half fists against the marble ledge, as if he’s holding himself back. 

“Why do you keep wearing…” he says, trailing off. With a jerk of his chin, Keith gestures at his outfit, eyes liquid dark. It’s not even one of Lance’s more revealing pieces. Sure the top is cropped and skin tight, highlighting the sun-kissed freckles of his shoulders and the smooth, toned expanse of his stomach, but hey— at least he has pants on. 

Lance arches his body just so, noting the way Keith’s pupils contract. 

“I like watching you struggle,” he quips, pleased with himself. Keith narrows his eyes. 

“You’re evil.” 

“No, you’re just too easy.” 

Keith’s hands lift to hold him still, but Lance slips out of the way. His heart picks up pace as Keith rises and follows, every step forward matching Lance’s step back. There’s a distinct feeling that he’s landed himself into trouble he invited, excitement simmering in his gut.  

“Weren’t you the one who told me we have to keep our distance from each other?” 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little bit of fun.”

“A little bit of fun, huh?” 

The darkening of Keith’s tone has Lance gulping, his insides turning molten. He backs up until his shoulders bump into the wall behind him, this side of the hallway cool with shadow, obscuring their figures and offering a them moment of privacy. 

Keith’s hand comes to rest beside his ear. The tunic he has on today is another dark one, despite the array of colors Lance knows he was given in his closet. It flows loosely off his trim waist, though the wide-cut collar is stretched tight around his broad shoulders and chest. Lance’s eyes drink up the slip of exposed skin as Keith crowds him against the wall, his fingers aching to dip underneath the fabric and touch. 

Everything about Keith is new yet familiar. Lance especially can’t get over how… _big_ he’s become. Aside from his distinctive Galra features, Keith’s height easily topples his by at least half a head now, and Lance can’t even begin to describe how conflicted and aroused that development makes him feel. Part of him wants to curse karma for getting back at him for all those years he gloated about his one inch height advantage over Keith. 

The other, larger part of him wants to thank the universe for this gift. 

He can’t help the hitch in his breath as Keith leans in even closer, the narrow space between them weighted and hot. Lance wants to melt into that heat, wants to drop down onto his knees and taste Keith on his tongue. He gasps when Keith’s rough, callused palm finally caresses the bare skin of his waist, massaging the muscles there, pressing their stomachs flush. 

That’s new, too, the way Keith’s hand easily spans the width of him. 

Imagination running wild, Lance sees Keith flipping him over on their bed with those hands, positioning him onto all fours and bruising his hips. Lance would cant his ass in the air and keep his mouth wide open for Keith to choose which to fuck roughly into. Keith would kiss him until he’s wobbly and weak, would make him feel so fucking _good_. 

Their mouths only a breath apart, Lance scrunches his eyes and waits, puckering his lips in anticipation. But when the kiss never comes — when Keith’s warmth actually disappears — he opens his eyes, disoriented and bereft. 

He finds Keith with a satisfied smirk across his face, fanged tooth flashing.

“Like that?” 

It takes Lance’s brain several ticks too long to process that Keith was getting back at him for his intentional outfit choice, long enough to watch Keith throw a cheeky little wave behind him, infuriatingly smug as he says: “See you later, Your Highness.”  

Lance wants to collapse onto the floor and melt. 

_Okay, I deserved that one._

He’s a hot and bothered mess the rest of the day, barely managing to keep himself composed for the remaining coronation preparations. Halfway through his final outfit fitting, he has to ask the seamstresses to pull all their meticulous hard work off of him, dashing to the bathroom and locking the door, stuffing four whole fingers into his pulsing, dripping cunt. 

Keith’s cock would be so big now; four fingers probably isn’t even a worthy comparison. Lance writhes on the cool, marble floor and imagines Keith’s cock being the one inside him. Imagines Keith’s large hands pushing his thighs back until his ankles brush his ears. Keith folding him into every vulnerable position so that he can fuck Lance proper and right, breed Lance full of come until he’s full and swollen and heavy, until Lance is delirious and begging him for a baby, to start a family… 

Lance can’t believe what he’s thinking, biting the curve of his palm to muffle his cries as he comes, sticky and hot all over his stomach. He spasms on the floor that’s now slick with his sweat, lungs heaving for air, feeling like flotsam on a wave. The orgasm takes the edge off, but there’s still a throbbing undercurrent of want simmering beneath his flushed skin. 

_I need him soon_ , Lance thinks as he crawls onto his hands and knees for round two, chasing the memory of Keith’s fingers twisting into his hair, pulling him back. 

He cleans himself up thoroughly in the aftermath, rejoining his attendants with blood-hot cheeks, flooded with embarrassment over what he just did. Thankfully, they’re luckily none the wiser, leading Lance through the rest of the dress rehearsals patiently and excitedly, keeping him busy and distracted. 

As the day bleeds into night, the final preparations wrap without a hitch, everything in place for the celebration to go smoothly the next day. Lance makes sure to thank everyone after dinner, bowing to each member of his staff, all of them fretting over his gesture of gratitude. 

“It’s our utmost honor to serve you, Your Highness,” they tell him, lifting him up from his bent position. 

“We’re so happy to see your coronation tomorrow!”

“You will be magnificent, dear Prince.” 

Tears pressing against his eyes, Lance is struck again by the absolute faith his family and people have in him. Perhaps because Allura passed the trial in Oriande without trouble, they’ve naturally come to assume that Lance will be able to do the same. But Lance is not Allura, though they are cousins by blood and in spirit, and he can’t help but doubt that their faith is misplaced. 

Insecurities about his own value and capabilities have always torn at his foundations, though he’s grown more equipped to deal with those kinds of thoughts over the years. Compared to his younger self, Lance has a much stronger sense now of where his strengths lie and of what he’s worth, but it never truly gets any easier. The weight of so many people’s expectations is a heavy ailment, and the fear of disappointment an even more powerful drug. 

Keith finds him as he’s about to turn in for the night, praying that sleep will absolve some of his shipwrecked nerves. The half-Galra immediately senses it, vaulting over the banister of Lance’s balcony to stand in front of him and cradle his jaw, eyes searching.  

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” 

Lance tilts his face into Keith’s warm palm, melting into the comfort it offers, unsurprised that Keith always manages to find him when he’s at his most vulnerable. It’s safe, though, to be vulnerable with Keith. Lance knows he’ll always help guide him back to shore. 

“I’m just worried about tomorrow, that ritual I’m supposed to pass before the coronation. No one’s said anything about what will happen if I don’t, and it seems like they’re all expecting that I will, but I can’t help but think—”

Keith tilts his chin up, voice gentle and firm. “You’ll pass, Lance. You will. Don’t overthink it.”

“Overthinking is like, my _job_ , Keith,” Lance jokes, but his voice catches on a splinter. 

“You’re worthy of being the Crown Prince of Altea. It’s in your blood.” Keith settles his hand over Lance’s heart, anchoring the beat, baring some of the tide. “But, more than that, I’ve never met anyone in the universe so meant to lead with a heart and mind as good as yours. If the ritual’s dumb enough to reject you, then the whole system’s bullshit.”

A huff of laughter escapes Lance at that last part, a real one that tugs at a smile. He shakes his head. “You’ll start a war saying words like that. And no, I don’t like that look in your eye.”

Keith immediately averts his gaze, the fire in them dying down to a low ember. “You know I’d do anything for you,” he mumbles, sheepish yet stubbornly fierce. Lance reaches up to stroke the crest of his cheek, the pain that’d been flaring in his chest now overflowing with fondness.  

“And I for you, love.” 

He knows Keith would upheave the universe just for him, just as Lance would do the same for him. They’ll always have each other’s backs, for better and for worse. They’ll always be what the other needs. 

The ache to touch Keith intensifies even more. Lance has to clutch onto the front of Keith’s shirt to hold himself steady as he lifts up onto the tips of his toes, brushing his lips against Keith’s softly. Still he trembles as Keith slowly unravels him, coaxing his mouth open with rough, sweet kisses. 

It’s dizzying, how warm and safe and invincible Keith makes him feel. Lance breaks away with a content sigh, fitting his head comfortably beneath the crook of Keith’s chin, cheek pillowed against solid chest. 

“You should sleep soon,” Keith murmurs gently, dropping a last kiss into Lance’s hair. Lance nods, but he doesn’t want to move. It takes every last bit of his remaining willpower to push himself off, body immediately feeling cold outside Keith’s arms. He stumbles a little as he walks into his room, legs still shaky from the kiss. 

“Lance?”

Lance turns around. “Yes?” 

Keith smiles, and he steals all of Lance’s breath away. 

“Nothing. Just wanted to take another look at you.” 

 

☾

 

The morning of his coronation, Lance thinks he might throw up. 

Before the break of dawn, all his attendants flood into his room, practically lifting him out of bed and dunking him into the bath, three of his maids scrubbing him down from head to toe. Once he’s smooth as a baby’s bottom, they carefully wrap him in layers of blue silk, the robes embroidered with stardust, cinched at his waist and flowing around his legs. Delicate gold chains decorate his bare arms and neck, jewels inlayed like constellations. Gold dusts his eyelids and the apples of his cheeks, brightening the blue of his eyes, shimmering beneath the light along with the pulse of his marks. 

Lance takes deep breaths in and out as his curls are deftly framed around his face, trying to quell his nervous shaking. He nearly jumps out of his skin when someone else bursts in through the doors, his attendants all gasping in unison, scandalized at the intrusion. 

“Lance!” 

Lance turns to see a flurry of auburn hair, framing a familiar, heart-shaped face wearing glasses two sizes too large. A rush of happiness surges through him, and without thinking he runs across the room to reach the person on the other side. 

“Pidget!” 

He opens his arms to accept Pidge’s tackle, their laughter ringing as he spins them around, squeezing tight. 

“I missed you!” 

“I missed you, too! Where’s Hunk?”

“Right here,” a voice booms from behind him, and the next thing Lance knows he’s being lifted into the air, too. 

Hunk’s bodybuilder arms swing them back and forth, the three of them almost tumbling to the floor in a laughing heap. The attendants around them fret, worried about Lance’s attire and makeup, and Lance makes sure to sit back down in front of the vanity after a while, letting them finish their work. 

“You look amazing, Lance,” Hunk tells him, flopping onto his bed. He’s already changed into Altean attire, looking comfortable and at home in the yellow silks. Pidge is similarly dressed, their green pants baggy just how they like them. 

“How does it feel to be the alien version of the Princess Mia Thermopolis?” they ask, pulling up a chair next to Lance. They yelp as a hairdresser immediately descends upon them, hellbent on wrangling out their tangles. 

Lance waves a hand, trying to appear nonchalant. “Oh, you know, nerve-wracking. But nothing I can’t handle!” And it’s true, now that his friends are here. He feels some of that nervous energy subsiding already, calmed by their presence. “I’m really glad you guys are here. Thank you.” 

Hunk and Pidge both shrug like it’s no big deal, like they didn’t travel through three whole galaxies from one end of the star system to the other just to get here. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything, not even the Overwatch finals.” 

“Oh my god, who won?” 

“NYXL, obviously. Did you see Saebyeolbe get a new puppy?” 

“He what?!” 

Pidge and Hunk keep him company as Lance finishes up getting dressed, chattering about their favorite players and other Earth events that Lance missed over the months. It’s the distraction he sorely needed, his breathing leveling out as the looming ritual drops to the background of his mind, not as intimidating as he first woke up. 

When Alla, Ahari, and Asha crest over the horizon, painting the landscape in corals and golds, Lance walks down to the castle grounds, where the royal procession is waiting for him. Uncle Alfor and Aunt Alisandra are the first to see him, wrapping him up into a steadying embrace. Allura pulls him away so that she can hug him too, Coran joining in with words of encouragement. The Holts and Garrett families are also there, followed by Keith’s dad, mom, and adoptive brother Shiro, all congratulating him with praises and good wishes. 

When he finally reaches Keith, he tries not to flush too deeply at the dumbstruck look on his face. 

“Speechless?” Lance prods, tempted to do a spin. His heart is a mess again, but the good kind. 

Keith threads their fingers together, forgetting their audience, earnest as he says: “How can you be more and more beautiful by the day?” 

Lance all but squeals, wishing he could somehow both hide his face into Keith’s chest and run far, far away. At his reaction, Keith’s breath ghosts over his skin in a note of laughter, eyes as warm as the sunrise, drinking Lance in as if he’s the only oasis in the world. 

“There are other people dying to see you, too,” he says, stepping to the side. Lance tilts his head curiously before looking ahead, shielding his eyes against the rising suns. 

What he doesn’t expect to see is Mamá, grandmamá, and all of his siblings, even his nephew and niece, smiling brightly at him in the cup of dawn. 

Tears immediately spring to his eyes as they wave and rush toward him — Ronnie, Marco, and Luis reaching him first, piling him into a group hug while little Luna and Ari cling to his legs, giggling wildly at their “Uncle Lance, Uncle Lance! Wait, can we still call you uncle after you become a Prince?” 

“Mamá,” Lance gasps when Freda slips into the hug as well, his voice wet and wobbly from happiness, the tears streaking down his cheeks. “Grandmamá, I can’t believe you came.”  

“Of course we came, _mijo_ ,” Freda says, crying herself. They’re a family of criers, their emotions always too full to contain. 

“You’re not nervous are you?” Grandmamá Talhia chides, her eyes still full of energy and light despite her age. 

Marco ruffles his hair. “Don’t get an even bigger head now that you’re gonna be a Prince.” 

“Oh my god, Lance, stop crying,” Veronica tells him, also still crying. “You’ll ruin your makeup!” 

“Hey, Auntie and Uncle,” Luis greets as the rest of the group walks over to join them, Lance’s whole family standing together for the first time ever. Uncle Alfor picks Ari and Luna up, while Marco and Veronica shake Lady Krolia’s hand. Mamá pulls Keith into one of her bone-crushing hugs, whispering words into his ear that Lance can’t hear, Keith’s answering smile so wide and beautiful it makes Lance wonder what she said. 

Surrounded by their love and warmth, Lance has never felt more at home. More brave and sure. 

“Your Highness. It’s time.” 

In the juniberry fields of Altea near the sea, hidden in a cove sheltered by cliff rocks and incoming tide, lives the fragment of a white, primordial star. It’s the gateway to Oriande, guarded by the five Lions of Voltron. The druids of the cove tend to the Lions and the gate, one entity bound to twelve separate bodies of Quintessence, until the next heir to the Altean throne is in need of passage. 

When Lance steps foot inside, he can immediately sense the bloom of magic deep within, thriving lush and ancient. The silver light of the star illuminates the walls, etched blue and intricate with the runes of Altean alchemy, left behind for thousands of years. They detail the founding of Altea and the passage into Oriande, a kingdom within the astral plane meant only for those who bare the Mark of the Chosen. 

Lance’s marks burn, drawn toward the magic that beckons him, sinking into his skin and tugging at his very bones. Near the entrance of the cove, his family and friends from Earth have to stop, the power of the star too dangerous for them to go any closer. Part of the royal procession stays behind with them, while the others begin to line the walls, flanking Lance as he walks toward the druids standing in front, her bodies pulsing with the glow of pure Quintessence. 

“Welcome, Paladin,” she says, twelve separate lips moving at once; twelve pairs of irises as white as the star itself, gleaming incandescent. Her voice resounds in the hollow chamber, echoing off the majestic frames of the Voltron Lions. 

“Today is your coronation, and thus you must complete the rite of passage. Only then can you ascend the throne and join those that came before you. Only then will you be worthy of your title.”  

Lance nods, remembering this part at least from Allura’s own ceremony two years ago. When the druids had touched the crown of her head with her finger, Lance had watched in wonder as the light of Quintessence surrounded her, a veil of stardust caressing her figure. The same light immerses him now, cool as water as it threads through his veins, a protective essence that will shield him from the heat of the star. 

“Choose someone to wait for you on the other side.” 

This, too. Someone who will tether him to the land so that he won’t stray too far in the astral plane. Someone who will be able to guide him back through the breach in time and space after the trial is passed. 

There can be no blood relation to the royal line. Allura had chosen Romelle, her childhood best friend. 

Lance looks back to Keith and holds out his hand. 

Keith takes it with no hesitation. 

The druids part, allowing the two of them to pass through. In front of the star, Lance can hardly breathe, the magic blazing through him from the inside out, threatening to rip him apart. Still the light calls to him, a profound power that grips his very soul, and he untangles his hand from Keith’s, feeling him squeeze before letting go. 

“May the White Lion bless you,” the druids speak one last time. The gate of the star opens. The power within tells Lance it’s been waiting for him. 

He takes one deep breath before stepping forward, sinking into Oriande. 

 

☾

 

When Lance reemerges, Keith is the first by his side. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against Lance’s ear, tucking him into his arms as he falls from the white star. Lance shivers in the warmth of his embrace, skin cold and lungs empty from the passage of time and space. 

Flashes of the White Lion and Oriande ripple through his mind — the ancestors of Altea accepting him, the White Lion deeming him worthy to rule. It all feels like a dream, as Lance is guided gently out of the cove, a cacophony of cheers erupting around him. Outside, the people of Altea and those from planets all over the Voltron Star System are present and waiting, news of Lance’s triumph echoing through the crowd. In a whirlwind of motion, Lance is passed from one pair of arms to another, congratulations ringing inside his ears, kisses pressed against his cheeks. 

The next thing he knows he’s back at the Castle, thousands of citizens gathered on the grounds, spilling far and wide onto the lush, green fields surrounding them. The cloudless sky is dappled in bursts of juniberry petals and golden sunshine, Altea’s national song resonating through the air. Lance loses himself to the whirlwind of sights and sounds and scents until a cape is clasped over his shoulders, the weight of the lion brooch warm against the hollow of his throat.  

It doesn’t hit him until he’s walking up the steps toward the throne. It doesn’t hit him until the weight of the crown settles into his hair. 

“Crown Prince, second in line,” the herald announces, and the sound of the crowd is as deafening as a roar, resonating through the land and in Lance’s heart.

As he turns around, he sees Pidge cheering from on top Hunk’s shoulders. Shiro hand in hand with Matt as they wave. He sees his Mamá, who raised him on an island with his three siblings all by herself, not knowing whether the man she loved would ever return to her. Always knowing that her son, too, would be meant for something greater than himself.

He sees Keith, at the forefront of it all. Keith, smiling at him with so much love and pride. Lance wishes he could rush down the steps and kiss him in front of the whole world. Wishes their love didn’t have to be a secret, that it could be something cherished yet shared, something he didn’t have to hide.

When the celebration kicks into full swing, they lose each other in the surging crowd. The Castle is opened to every friendly nation and diplomatic envoy invited, aliens from all over the universe filtering into the ballroom, dancing and mingling and vying for the chance to speak with Lance himself. Several royals of their own respective planets even ask for Lance’s hand in marriage, Keith bristling in the background whenever one of them gets too close.

Lance bites down a laugh and politely turns each of them down, catching Keith’s eye with a wink. 

“May I have this dance, Your Highness?” Keith asks later that night, tapping Lance’s shoulder before bending into a bow, hand over heart.  
Lance resists the urge to dip into an exaggerated curtsy, cheeks aching from how hard he’s smiling as he replies, “It would be my pleasure, Lord Keith.” 

He wonders if anyone in the room can tell how wholly and irrevocably in love he is, held in the arms of the only man he’s ever loved. He feels it must show — in the way he can’t stop smiling, in the way he flushes whenever Keith leans down to whisper in his ear, praising him until he melts. 

“Your room tonight?” Keith asks, voice like whisky, smooth and heated with promise. Lance tries to play it cool, even as Keith presses their stomachs flush together, palm hot and heavy on the small of Lance’s back. 

“Someone’s eager.” 

“And you can’t pretend you’re not.” 

Lance bites his lower lip, glaring lightly at Keith’s lazy smirk from beneath his lashes. He’d like to think he was faring pretty well, actually, before Keith started sweet talking him into oblivion. Had he always been this bold and straightforward? 

_Yes, only he’s even worse now._

“Go to my room first, by the pool. I’ll follow you.” 

They separate when the melody ends, Keith placing a lingering kiss on Lance’s knuckles before disappearing into the crowd. Lance wills the blood from his face before greeting the next wave of diplomats, maintaining the perfect picture of modesty as he chatters and negotiates. He thanks the Gods when Allura takes over for him, retreating to a corner of the room to hang out with Hunk, Pidge, and all of his siblings for the rest of the party, catching up on the time they’ve missed together. 

When the celebration finally ends, he doesn’t waste any time. Bidding goodbye to the last of the guests, and kissing his family goodnight, Lance dashes out of the ballroom and down the hallway, heading straight for his room. He sends the guards away stationed out front, persuading them to take the night off from their duties, before slipping inside and locking the doors, nearly sprinting into his bathroom. 

Deeper within Lance’s room is a private pool, a secret lock in the vanity granting access. He had requested it when he first came to Altea, missing the small, community pool back home in Cuba where he would go swimming every weekend. Alteans didn’t understand the concept of chlorine water and swimming in it for fun though, so the pool functions more as a glorified bath, with a panel of wall that can reflect any place in the universe, from Lance’s childhood neighborhood to a cluster of stars in deep space.

Tonight, the walls are dark and blank, merely catching the low lights of the pool. Lance sees Keith leaning against the ledge of the shallow end, already stripped down, his hair tousled and wet. The lights carve shadows into the planes of his body, highlighting his muscles and scars, both old and new. 

Lance wants to re-memorize every patch of skin, learn the stories of every cut and bullet and love them all the same. He unties the cape around his neck, dropping it to the side as Keith turns to look at him.

“Took you long enough,” he says, smiling. Any witty remark dies in Lance’s throat as he rises out of the pool, rivulets of water sluicing down his body, cock thick and heavy between his legs. Just like the rest of him, Lance sees that it’s bigger than before. Different. Lance wonders how it will fit inside him now. His gut throbs in anticipation, the slit of his opening already dripping just thinking about it. 

They’re both quiet as Keith starts undressing him, the drag of his fingers excruciatingly slow, as if he’s getting back at Lance for all his stunts over the past few days. He takes his time parsing open the fabric, the rough calluses of his palms grazing every inch of skin that’s revealed. Lance’s breath breaks when Keith’s thumb brushes over a nipple, feeling the skin tighten and pucker, begging to be touched again. He shudders as Keith moves on, the span of his thick fingers dragging down his ribs and gripping his waist. 

It sears through Lance, the utter gentleness of Keith’s touch. Every caress coils his insides, slick trickling down between his thighs as Keith pulls down his pants, pressing a kiss to the juncture of his hip and thigh, the tip of his cock. He stands to lick into Lance’s pliant and eager mouth, until Lance is wobbly and weak from it, aching for more.  

When every piece of jewelry and fabric is discarded on the marble floor, Keith leads him into the water. The temperature is warm and soothing, Lance sighing happily as Keith begins to wash him, rubbing a rich, soapy lather across his skin before rinsing. Lance takes care of his own hair and face, since he’s so particular about it, but laughs nevertheless when Keith tries to help him, dotting his face with the exfoliate, drawing patterns that tickle. 

The arousal is heady, but more than that, Lance just wants to spend this time with Keith, now that everything’s over. His hands fall on the half-Galran’s shoulders when Keith starts massaging his thighs, gasping whenever he brushes near his entrance, never quite touching. 

“Don’t tease,” Lance mumbles, already anticipating Keith’s answer. There’s no way Keith would pass up the opportunity to wind Lance as tight as a bowstring, especially after all the teasing Lance did to him this week, both unintentional and completely purposeful. 

Keith hums, thumb stroking between Lance’s folds, eyes half-swallowed in pupil as he looks up. “I’m allowed to do anything I want, aren’t I?”

It’s not a question of permission, more of a promise of what’s to come. Lance mewls when Keith finally dips into his heat, the length of his cock fitting perfectly into the palm of Keith’s hand. Keith rocks his hand back and forth, dragging the blunt tips of his fingers inside Lance’s spongy walls, another pressing against the furl of his hole. The squelch of Lance’s tight, greedy cunt is loud and filthy in the quiet of the pool, mixing in with his whimpering moans. Keith hums contently, eyes closed in bliss as he laps at Lance’s chest, sucking each nipple into his mouth and teasing them with his teeth until they’re swollen and sore. 

Before Lance can sink fully onto Keith’s knuckles, Keith slides out of him. Lance whines in protest before he’s suddenly hoisted up bridal style, Keith carrying him out of the pool. Lance splutters when Keith throws a towel over his hair and bundles him into a burrito, somehow never letting go. 

They walk back into the room, Keith dripping water everywhere like a wet puppy. Lance pats his face dry and kisses the tip of his nose, before Keith drops him gently down onto the bed. He giggles helplessly as Keith dries him off too, all the way down to his toes, purposefully tickling him and dodging Lance’s poorly aimed kicks. His laughter is quieted by a kiss, Keith’s smile pressing into his mouth, until the touch of their lips turns molten once more, dripping down Lance’s spine. 

Lance slides off the edge of the bed as Keith pulls away, the towel around his waist pooling at his feet. Fully hard, Keith’s cock is massive. The large head is slick and flushed, pre-come welling from the wide slit, dribbling down its length. There are ridges down its underside, thickening more and more until it reaches the base where a knot sits, as large as Lance’s fist. 

Lance gulps at the size, cunt pulsing at the thought of that fat cock head dragging back and forth inside him. He wants it, so much, wants Keith to fill him up, sloppy and full and overflowing. 

“You don’t have to—” Keith starts, foolishly thinking Lance would waste the absolute _gift_ that’s been offered to him. He shuts up when Lance peers up at him from below his lashes, holding his gaze as he leans in to kiss the tip, tongue lapping around the bobbing head. Both his hands reach to cup the base of Keith’s cock, gently teasing the pulsing knot as he mouths at the underside, reveling in the feel of the ridges dragging against his tongue. 

Keith groans, hoarse and guttural, when Lance finally swallows him down, hollowing out his cheeks and taking in as much as he can. Tears slip down his cheeks as his mouth works around Keith’s cock, the stretch of his lips wide and obscene. If Keith loves eating him out, then Lance craves taking Keith into his mouth. Craves the loss of breath when Keith hits the back of his throat. Craves it when Keith grips his hair and takes what belongs to him, uses Lance until he’s gasping for breath, lungs heaving and throat fucked raw. 

Keith seems to have other ideas tonight, though, pulling Lance away with a punched-out grunt, guiding him to stand up with a firm hand on his chin. Lance whimpers as Keith devours his lips and thrusts into his open mouth, thumbs brushing away his tears. 

Breaking away from the kiss, jaw aching, Lance lets Keith turn him around, hands dropping to brace himself against the bed. He quickly climbs on top onto all fours, back arching and hips swaying, tilting his head to look back at Keith. 

In the moonlight, Keith looks equal parts feral and gorgeous. The sinew of his muscles are tense, chest heaving, sclera glowing faintly in the darkness. His broad hands tug Lance’s hips closer toward him, and Lance waits in anticipation for Keith’s cock, gasping when he feels the heat of Keith’s breath instead, right above his entrance. 

“Keith no—”

Keith’s tongue presses into him, hot and wet, carving him open. 

“I’m gonna come if— ah—”

“We have all night,” Keith rumbles, before spreading Lance’s cheeks wide to suckle on his sopping cunt. Lance wails, body writhing against the intense pleasure, nails ripping the sheets under him. Whenever he twists too far, Keith’s hands drag him back, tongue thrusting into Lance, eating him thoroughly. 

Lance’s whole body trembles, helpless, his thighs losing strength and sliding wider and wider. Keith grabs them and flips him over, pressing his hands down on Lance’s navel and hips, holding him down. Lance is completely powerless in this position, legs spasming in the air as Keith drags his tongue from hole to cunt, rough and merciless. Lance gives in all too easily, grinding into Keith’s eager mouth, sobbing as his orgasm hits. 

It’s like a riptide surges through him, tingling from head to toe. Lance is gushing, and when Keith finally pulls away, his mouth and chin are smeared with Lance’s slick, glistening in the light.

Lance watches, heart in his throat, as Keith licks every last drop on his hand clean, growling low and appreciative at Lance’s taste. His vision is still blurry with tears as Keith cleans the come on his belly, too, kissing every part of Lance’s body until he’s fully hard again. 

“I need you in me. Keith, please—” Lance babbles, heart thundering when Keith crawls up, caging him in. He spreads his legs wide as Keith positions himself above his cunt, breath seizing as Keith slowly sinks inside, inch by inch. 

Keith sounds equally winded as his massive cock is sucked in, arms visibly shaking from the effort of holding himself up. “Gods, you’re so _tight_ —” he groans, a punched out sound from deep within his chest. 

“Ah! Keith! _Fuuuuck_ …” 

Lance’s nails scrape sharply over the thick of Keith’s shoulders, sure to color and welt, but Keith doesn’t seem to register the sting as he drives in deeper still, grip bruising around Lance’s quaking hips. He captures Lance’s mouth in a kiss to swallow his gasps and whimpers, working him loose and pliant with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue. Lance is dizzy with the pleasure of it, sultry and consuming like the longest of summer days. He winds his arms around Keith’s neck and rocks into the damp heat between their bodies; wanting more, wanting to drown. 

When he finally takes Keith in all the way to the hilt, stars explode in the darkness of his eyes. Keith pulses hotly inside, filling him so completely Lance is afraid he’ll shake apart. A sob escapes him as another orgasm suddenly crests over, walls milking Keith’s cock, swallowing him impossibly deeper. 

Dimly, he can feel the bright blue marks on his skin throb in tandem with his heartbeat, his whole body aching. Keith is shaking, too, breaths harsh and labored as his hands claw into the sheets. Raw, wounded sounds fall from his throat, tearing at Lance’s heart. _He’s holding himself back_ , Lance realizes, _putting my comfort first_. 

Through the haze of pleasure, Lance calls out to him, “hey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes Keith from his hiding place, brushing his knuckles across his cheeks, tracing the patterns of his skin. With a shudder, Keith opens his eyes, staring at Lance with so much love and devotion Lance feels he might shatter from it. 

_I don’t want to hurt you,_ Keith tells him without speaking. _I love you, I love you._

In the span of a heartbeat, in the hitch of a breath, the moment is both fleeting and infinite. Softly, tenderly, Lance kisses the rumple of Keith’s brow and the tip of his nose. Let’s him know it’s okay, “don’t hold back on me, love,” and reflects that same love back, pouring every ounce of it into their connected gaze. 

Finally, Keith begins to move. He sets a shallow rhythm at first, before gently pulling Lance into the motion, long, thick drags that strike the right place every time. It lasts forever. He is attentive, controlled; demonstrating a sort of restraint Lance didn’t know he was capable of. Whenever Lance finds himself moving towards the edge, Keith slows himself enough to force Lance back. 

Lance is becoming undone, enveloped and consumed by Keith’s fire. He is all skin, all sensation, unable to do anything but bend and glow and surrender. 

Keith presses a hot kiss to Lance’s shoulder, shaking before he says in a gutted voice, “Lance, I need—”  


And something snaps. The next shove of his hips drives him into Lance at a new angle, and Lance’s whole body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure of it. 

Keith grips the crest of his hip bones to keep them off the bed where they can meet his thrusts. Keith is burying himself completely, harder and faster and harder again, until Lance feels the force of it in all of his joints and in his throat, has to turn his head to hide the fever pitch of his fucked-out noises, wailing into the silken sheets. 

He knows he’s drooling, drunk off pleasure. He can’t _think_ with Keith’s cock inside him, the ridges rubbing against his walls just right, the friction addictive. 

He nearly misses it when Keith says, “Lance, look,” so lost in the ache and the fullness. The ruthless pace slows, pulling Lance from his daze, just enough so that he can lift his head and look down at where Keith has his palm spread over his abdomen, fingers splayed wide.

“Do you see me, inside you?” 

When Keith thrusts in again — slow, thoughtful — Lance’s breath rips apart at the sight of Keith’s cock moving inside him, distending his abdomen. 

Keith is pressing all the way to his womb. Keith is bulging out of him. 

“My knot isn’t even in you yet.” 

“No, there’s no way…” 

Lance’s vision whites out as Keith begins to move again, a long, high moan tearing from his throat as his back arches off the bed, body shaking from the force of another orgasm. 

It barely dies down before Keith flips him over, driving into him once more. Lance doesn’t bother muffling his screams this time, Keith’s pace just shy of brutal, the bed slamming against the wall. The sheets are ruined beneath them, Lance’s fingers clenching into the fabric. He feels Keith’s weight cover his; feels Keith’s hands thread theirs together, fingers locking through the gaps. 

Keith pulls him up, until his back is flush against his chest, placing their interlocked hands over Lance’s stomach. With each thrust Lance feels Keith’s cock bump against his palm, the sound of their lovemaking loud and obscene in his ears. His cries are swallowed as Keith captures his mouth, kissing him quiet before dragging his lips down Lance’s jaw and the curve of his throat, hands roaming to tug at Lance’s pert nipples and his swollen, leaking cock. 

With one more thrust, Keith buries his knot into Lance, biting the juncture of Lance’s shoulder as he comes inside with a shout. The breach of his knot pushes Lance over the edge as well, his knees giving out as white hot stars explode behind his eyes, blazing through his body and incinerating it with unbridled pleasure. 

As they collapse back onto the sheets, the aftershocks keep pulsing, a feedback loop of heat and bliss. Lance feels the come gush out from his entrance, coating his trembling legs. Keith licks over his bite and kisses his face all over, hoarse praises falling like prayers. 

“You felt so good, Lance, you were so good.” 

Lance whimpers as the knot slowly dies down, Keith slipping out of his cunt still fully hard. His belly feels heavy. His thighs weak and sore. Dimly, he registers Keith pushing their come and slick into the gape of his hole, pulling the rim open.  


Lance thinks, deliriously, that dying on his coronation day being fucked to oblivion by Keith wouldn’t be a bad way to go. He cries out as Keith buries into him for a third time, this time in his ass. He rolls his hips desperately as Keith’s fingers drive into his cunt, sloshing the come inside, matching the pace of his thick length shoving against his prostrate. Lance feels utterly stuffed, an ass full of cock and a belly full of come. 

This is what it’s like to be made for someone. This is what it means to be possessed, body and soul.  

He loses count of how many times Keith makes love to him that night. 

He simply feels. 

 

☾

 

When Lance wakes up, Keith is still asleep beside him. 

Outside, the suns are just beginning to rise — warm, ochre light spilling into the room, unspooling across their skin. Lance takes the time to soak in the shadows cast by Keith’s lashes; his messy bedhead, his slightly parted mouth. 

Lance memorizes the moment Keith wakes, watching his nose scrunch, the lids of his eyes pulling back, slow and sleepy. 

“Good morning,” he says, giddy with the rush of love and affection. Half-asleep like this, there’s a boyish charm to Keith, even more so when Keith realizes where he is, staring at Lance with a look of wonder. 

At the expression on Keith’s face, Lance releases a laugh. “What? Struck by my beauty again?”

Keith simply nods, no reservations. 

“I want to wake up every morning like this,” he says, honest and innocent. Lance feels his heart swell like a balloon, and leans in to kiss Keith softly on the mouth, morning breath be damned. 

“Me too. I want to wake up every morning with you.” 

“Let’s just stay in bed today,” Keith huffs, trying to the deepen the kiss. But Lance shakes his head, laughing as Keith groans when he untangles their legs, stretching toward the other side of the bed. 

There’s a secret he’s been keeping this whole week. A question he has to ask. Reaching into his bedside table, he takes out a small, velvet box, cradling it gently in his hands. His heart beats frantically as he sits up, white sheets pooling around his waist, blue marks burning to match. Keith follows his movement, curious.

When Keith sees what he’s holding, his breath catches, and Lance can’t seem to gather the courage to look into his eyes as he opens the lid, revealing two golden rings locked together. 

At the center of each is the heart of a star, one red and one blue, two halves of a whole. 

“I, um, got them at Cera Kalma, the night I sneaked out.” 

Lance fumbles as he takes the rings out, resting them in the curve of his palm. They’re light, delicate things, but they weigh so much, the meaning of them. The years of love poured into them. 

“I asked the maker about a year ago, after you left, what I wanted these rings to look like. It took him until the last day to carve them perfectly, cause he had to go mine a literal star, but I think they turned out beautiful, right?” 

Teardrops break on the inside of his wrist, and Lance realizes belatedly that they’re his. Laughter, soft and breathy, escapes him, vision clouding with more tears. He doesn’t know why he’s crying — only knows that, when he finally gains the courage to look at Keith, the same tears are shining in his eyes. The same love that’s too immeasurable to hold. 

“Lance, they are,” he whispers, hands coming to clasp around his, holding him steady. “They’re beautiful.” 

Keith picks up the the ring with the red star, and Lance’s hand curls around the blue. 

“Be mine, Keith?” he asks, and Keith’s answering smile is all it takes to undo him completely. 

“You’ve had me from the beginning, my love.” 

Lance slides the blue ring onto Keith’s finger, and Keith does the same for him with the red. When they hold their hands to the light, watching the engagement rings glimmer in the sun, Keith breaks down into laughter, too, tears slipping down his cheeks as he leans in to kiss Lance fully and deeply. 

“Gods, I love you. I love you _so much_ ,” he whispers, over and over again, his happiness spilling between their lips. “I’ll love you forever, I promise, through this universe and the next.” 

“I love you, too,” Lance says, promising the same, and even then the words don’t feel like they’re enough. 

For the rest of the morning, they take back all the time they couldn’t have for each other during the week, trying to ignore the fact that that time is quickly ending. They talk about their families — “Your mom gave me her blessing, that’s why I was smiling” — what Lance saw in Oriande — “Think the White Lion was trying to eat me” — what it would be like to start a home together, in a small house by the beach, maybe adopting a kid or two and raising a family of their own. 

“My mother almost named me Yorak,” Keith says casually, still looking at the red star on Lance’s ring finger, dropping a kiss to his knuckles. Nothing could distract Lance from that piece of info though. 

“Yorak?!” 

Keith’s eyes crinkle, and honestly Lance can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “She named the dog we got Yorak instead. I don’t know why she won’t let go of that name.” 

“Still a better name than Thunderstorm Darkness,” Lance ribs, remembering the times when they were younger and Keith was going through his edgy, emo phase. Keith shuts him up with another kiss, their laughter muffled in the sunlight as they press back into the sheets. 

Time passes too quickly after that, the Galran envoy set to leave mid-afternoon. At the last brunch shared on Altea, Lance doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, throwing all inhibitions to the wind as he feeds Keith chunks of fruit and sweet breads. Coran prepares a special dish of vegetable frittata with “free sha-vaca-doo,” and Lance and Keith both proceed to nearly choke to death at the pronunciation, wondering when Pidge got to him with the Vines. 

Beside them, Mama catches sight of their matching rings, and doesn’t hesitate to address Keith as her son for the rest of the meal. Lance’s heart soars at the acceptance and reality of the simple gesture, and he sees how happy it makes Keith, too, his smile never brighter. 

When the Galran imperial cruiser lands, headed back to Daibazaal, Lance doesn’t feel as sad as he would’ve thought. Instead, he thinks of all the future has to offer, Keith by his side, and all he can feel is excitement and hope. 

“Lance—” Keith says, looking back one last time before he has to leave. 

In front of the Galran emissary, in front of the Altean court, Lance beats him to it, running the distance between and jumping into Keith’s waiting arms, kissing him full and heady and sweet. 

“Come back to me,” he says, when they break apart. He smiles at Keith’s awestruck face, melting into an expression Lance knows he’ll have the rest of his life to look at. The rest of his life to cherish. 

“Always.” 


End file.
